


Out of the Water

by StripedScribe



Series: Febuwhump2021 [26]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Drowning, FebuWhump2021, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pneumonia, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: A dip in the Hudson, and the near drowning turns to pneumonia for Matt. Frank has no choice but to care for himFebuWhump Day 16 [Recovery]
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: Febuwhump2021 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136723
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Out of the Water

**Author's Note:**

> Technically a follow up to day 8 Shadows on the Water :D for TitC

He still wasn’t quick enough. That brief dip in the Hudson had turned into pneumonia, left Matt wanting nothing to do but sleep. Happy enough to rely on Frank for care and help, letting him call in sick for him. Having to chase away Foggy’s worry, he had it, it was an illness. It would be easy, all he wanted to do was whine about being ill, or sleep.

Except there was no food in this house, and he knew sick people needed food. Soup, bread, crackers. Something simple he could keep down, and nibble on in between naps. Keep him drinking and hydrated, a glass by the bed even if he couldn’t find it half the time.

It was his own goddamn fault, they’d agreed he should stay away from the Hudson unless he was going to learn how to swim properly. He wouldn’t always be there to drag him back to shore, help him cough up the water and carry him home. It was typical that a near drowning would lead to illness, lead to bed rest. And for once in his life it wasn’t a forced bed rest, Matt feeling awful enough to just stay there himself, sweating and shivering under the sheets. An awful cough racking his frame, any attempt to speak being taken over by breathlessness, or leading into another coughing fit.

He didn’t want to leave him, but he needed to go to the shops. Needed to get some food, supplies. Every step outside a worry, wanting to ring Matt and check he was okay, or give up and rush home. The closest supermarket, and he realised he didn’t even know what Matt’s favourite soups were, picking up one of everything to be safe, hoping this wasn’t another thing he was fussy about. Tinned soup, a sick man’s saviour.

More food for the apartment in general, to stock up the fridge and cupboards, give them enough food for a few days meals. Enough to mean that he wouldn’t have to leave him again, that they could lock in until Matt had recovered, keep an eye on him. He’d get better soon, but something like this was so much worse for both of them. They were both very used to the healing needed for injuries, for bullet and stab wounds. Not the healing needed for a body fighting against itself, trying to kill an illness.

Food and medication brought, he returned home, quietly placing the bags on the side, losing his shoes by the door. No noise from Matt yet, he could be sleeping again. Or at least resting. Not up and doing something stupid that would leave him on the floor.

“Hey Red, you alive in there still?” He whispered across the apartment, knowing Matt would hear it regardless. No reply, besides the rasping breaths he could just hear. He softly stepped into the bedroom, noticing Matt’s face slack in sleep, his limbs sprawled out across the bed. Still shivering, even in sleep, even as a sheen of sweat was clear to see across his forehead. They’d have to change the sheets, when he awoke next, get him more comfortable again. Give him a better space to heal in.

Returning to the kitchen, he put away the shopping, filling the fridge and cupboards. Pouring himself a glass of water and settling a chair closer to the door to Matt’s bedroom. Space, but close enough to keep an eye on him, in case he turned for the worse. Knowing that if he did, they’d have to call Claire, or take him to the hospital, even the state he was in now was bad enough, painkillers barely touching his temperature and sickness. He was still lucid enough to refuse any more help, determined to just weather through it on his own.

He doubted he’d have even called Frank, if he wasn’t already there. If he hadn’t been the one to drag him out of the Hudson and home again. Moving from Frank’s safehouse to his own apartment in the morning, quickly realising he was ill, that they hadn’t been quick enough to save him from inhaling water, taking in enough to give him this infection and illness.

If they could go to a hospital they could get antibiotics, better painkillers. But Matt was too stubborn, and hated them too much to even agree to go. The best they would get was hiding out in his apartment, hoping he got better instead of worse.

He managed to sleep for a while, even if it seemed restless, eventually waking up with a bout of coughing. Blankets pooling around his waist as he sat up, shivering in the cool air. A groan as he moved, patting the side table to find the glass of water and taking a few tentative sips.

“I feel like shit.”

“You look it Red. Want to clean off?” Get him out of the bed, showered, curled up on the sofa whilst he changed the sheets.

“Oh god yes. I feel awful. It’s so far away though - can you?” Frank moved closer as he pushed the duvet away, holding out a hand for him to steady himself against. Standing up, twisting to cough into his shoulder. “I ache all over.” Following Frank through the bathroom, too light as he helped him into the bath, losing his clothes across the floor. Sinking to sit in the bathtub, the cool water slowly filling up, the scent of soap in the air. Frank shut off the water, passing in a flannel and leaving to find him fresh clothes and towels. The door left open so he could listen in and check he wasn’t drowning or anything, the faint sounds of splashing as he cleaned up.

He was weak, that was clear from that short distance, even from the few hours he’d been suffering through this illness. Building up from his dunk in the river the day before, even with what Frank thought was a speedy rescue. Still not quick enough. Slow enough to leave him filled with guilt and what-ifs, if he’d only been quicker. If he’d only stopped him from even going near the water. No point dwelling on the past.

Bringing in clean comfortable clothes, helping him to drain the water, wrap him in towels. “So tired Frank.” The intimacy of care, they’d showered together enough times, but there was something different in this.

“I know, come on, let’s get you to the couch. Feel like you could eat something?” Dressed now, he traipsed out of the bathroom, curling up on the couch, Frank fussing around behind him.

“Maybe a little.”

He passed him over a glass of water, watching him take slow sips from it. “Soup? Bread and butter? Crackers?”

“Let’s try some bread.” It looked as though even the thought of eating pained him, but he had to try. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the flu or anything, but the complete lack of appetite was always awful, the aching, the shivers. He wished he could take some of the pain away from Matt.

A simple piece of bread and butter, cut up into small triangles and placed next to Matt on the couch. “I’m going to change the sheets quickly, see if you can’t pick at that a bit Red.” An ear out behind him as he stripped the bed, piling the damp sheets on the floor and putting on fresh ones. Ready to be washed later if, or when Matt took another nap.

“That staying down?” He couldn’t remember when he last had the flu, but he could remember looking after the kids when they had it. The voices of children who couldn’t understand why they felt so bad, why they couldn’t even eat their favourite foods. Of days missed from school, watching them curl up on the sofa in front of the television, drifting in and out of sleep. Repeating these same phrases to them, trying to find out how they feel, what they can do. Listening through a child’s vocabulary, the warnings of tummy’s feeling icky, the rush for a sick bowl.

Matt was still picking at the bread, but had managed about half of it, leaning up against the corner of the sofa. “Yeah, think so.”

“Want anything? You can take some more painkillers now, it’s been long enough.” He passed him over the packet of pills, refilling the glass of water. “You managed to sleep for a while.”

“Probably a good idea.” He took the pills, and then pulled the blanket tighter around him, sinking down a little. “Could I have a tea? I think I could manage that, something with a bit of flavour. One of the fruit ones.”

“One of the fruit ones. The only thing you keep in your cupboards is your selection of teas, any particular one?” An open cupboard, within it jars and jars of assorted teas, Matt’s one luxury he treated himself to. He’d watched his tea routine many times, preferring coffee himself, but respecting the care Matt always took in preparing his own drink.

“Hmm. Actually, lemongrass might settle my stomach? I think there’s a lot left of that one. It’s a smaller jar, left side of the shelf I think.” They were all labelled with braille, loose leaf tea in glass jars, metal tea strainers stacked in the shelf as well. Boiling the kettle, recognising the scent of the lemongrass and ginger tea as he opened the jar, spooning out the right amount into the strainer and clicking it closed. Leaving it to stew in the mug whilst he made himself a coffee.

“Is that long enough now?” Calling over to Matt, still settled on the sofa, who nodded in reply.

“Thank you.” Finishing their drinks and bringing them both over, flicking the television onto something quiet in the background. Some old film, the chatter of characters. As he sat next to Matt, he twisted, moving to lean against him, sipping at his tea.

“Feeling any better?”

“Mmm, not really. No worse though.” If it was pneumonia it wouldn’t be a quick fix, it was foolish to have expected that. Days, if not weeks of recovery. Of keeping Matt inside for that long.

He’d have to enlist help. To keep him off the streets, away from Daredevilling. Enough people to convince him the city was safe and he’d only kill himself going out like this. There were enough people who knew how stubborn he was and how much he’d need those threats to keep himself at home.

Best to phrase it as an opportunity to spend more time with Frank. That could never be a bad thing, right?

He healed, the infection working itself out of his body. Temperature dropping, as he went back to work, the cough disappearing. Eventually being well enough to return to the streets, threatened against going towards the docks.

Frank tried his best to keep him away, but they both knew it would only be a matter of time before he found himself in that water again, he was a magnet for trouble.


End file.
